


and sweetly spins

by mickleborger



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, dark queen ungoliant au, some spooky things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickleborger/pseuds/mickleborger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Melkor makes a mistake and loses to Ungoliant after the Darkening of Valinor, leaving Ungoliant to become the dark lord of Middle-earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and sweetly spins

And sweetly spins in her home beyond the dark and wily waits, waits and whispers into the dark with voice softer than her silks.  She does not come for you; you come to her.  She does not hunt you down; you offer yourself, your crown, your goods, your world.  You lie.  She knows.  She knows, and it does not matter.  She waits.  She lies.  You do not know.

And softly steps onto the earth that should be yours and calmly clicks, clicks her many teeth and blinks her many eyes.  She is soot upon the grass and ink against the sky, and moves like the nightmares you had when you were very small and have tried to emulate forever since.

When she turns away and you stop trembling you understand that the blinks were only glints of light in their final moments before she swallowed them, and that she _is_ the nightmares you had when you were very small.  Only her teeth and her blackness are real; only her emptiness and hunger.  She does not turn back again, but as you hurry after her - unstopping now in this world of light - you hear those teeth click shut, and you are glad you do not see her smile.

And you offered your all with both hands freely but, fool, deny her now, and she will have none of it; and as easily as she weaves her gloom she unravels you, and you are unmade, uncrowned.  You flee wailing to the West, and she keeps the spoils of you.  You have left her the light.  You have left her the key.  You have left her your cunning and your malice, and your world which now prostrate before her shivers.

There are dark places here, too; and she knows how to reach beyond them, and she knows how to grow them, and she knows what to draw from them.

And, named among the Nameless, voice of the Voiceless, she wears the crown that would have been yours.


End file.
